


Asimov's First Law

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: Wire and Code [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 03:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: In which the elves are still immortal and bad at it, the Noldor are still making things without slowing down to consider all the implications, and the Valar still really wish they would stop.





	1. Chapter 1

Feanor wasn’t the first to make a successful android; that had been their father, who’d started the business. He hadn’t even been the first to make one that could pass for a real elf when seen; that was Nerdanel.

He was, however, the first to create artificial intelligence that could pass for the real thing, a fact that some attributed to Feanor’s brilliance and that Fingolfin personally attributed to his brother being insane.

The unit his brother had installed it in was as small as a child, and it sat on the edge of Feanor’s workbench with its mechanical legs swinging aimlessly and a half completed arm held steadily out while Feanor adjusted something inside.

“Exactly how are you going to market an android this small?” Fingolfin demanded. “No one’s going to want an AI this untested near their children if that’s what you were thinking.”

The android’s eyes widened. “Father?”

“Father?” Fingolfin choked. “You programmed him to - “ A new meaning in the childlike form suddenly struck him, and his heart sank. “I know you and Nerdanel wanted children,” he began carefully.

Feanor’s grip on the small hammer in his hand shifted until it looked more like a weapon than a tool. “I’m not marketing him. We’re keeping him.”

The android’s shoulders actually slumped in a semblance of relief, and Fingolfin wondered just how ridiculously complicated his programming even was. “This isn’t healthy,” he tried.

“Your concern is noted.” Feanor snapped the last arm panel into the place, and suddenly the android could be a real elven child. Fingolfin repressed a shudder. “There you go, Maitimo. Why don’t you go show your mother?”

Fingolfin barely noticed the machine’s departure. He was too caught up in the name. “You named it well-made,” he said. “Of course you did.”

“Nerdanel did, actually,” Feanor said tightly. “And I would prefer that you not refer to him as an it.”

“It is literally an object,” Fingolfin snapped before taking a deep breath and reigning himself in. Their father had enough to worry about with the Valar’s increasing oversight of their business without the two of them getting into another scandalous fight. “Fine. But you had better not have programmed him to call me ‘uncle.’”

Feanor scoffed. “As if any child of mine ever would.”

 

Because Feanor apparently never knew when to stop, he kept building Maitimo progressively bigger bodies and reinstalling his personality chip in the upgraded form. Fingolfin avoided it as much as possible.

Then Feanor and Nerdanel - and why he’d ever had any hope she’d reign his brother in, he didn’t know - apparently decided one wasn’t enough and made another one.

“He can sing,” Feanor announced proudly at their latest attempt at a family dinner. Maitimo was there and talking eloquently to an enthralled Finwe. Fingolfin had no idea who had loaded food onto the machine’s plate as it wasn’t as if he could actually eat. The newest tiny android was perched in Nerdanel’s lap and looking around at everyone in a creepily convincing display of curiosity.

“All androids can sing,” Fingolfin pointed out. “The sound systems have been perfected for years.”

“You mean they can play recordings on command,” Feanor said scornfully.

“Well … yes,” Finarfin said with considerably more tact than Fingolfin would have. “What have you done instead?”

Nerdanel stroked the thing’s synthetic hair. “He’ll get better in time,” she said. “You still need a bit more training, don’t you?”

“I can sing,” it protested, and then -

The problem with androids singing, of course, was that no matter how perfect the pitch, they could never manage to endue a song with power the way an elf could, and the music always came out a little lifeless as a result.

This one’s power rang throughout the room with a force and beauty that brought tears to his eyes.

When the song ended, they all sat in stunned silence, except for Maitimo, who clapped dutifully, and the singer himself, who looked smug.

“I can sing,” he repeated. “I’ve been practicing.”

Fingolfin wasn’t really surprised to learn they’d named him Kanafinwe. Strong-voiced was rather hard to argue with after that. 

 

The third time Feanor announced he and Nerdanel had crafted an AI together, Fingolfin finally learned how his brother had been managing to do all this.

… Sort of.

He squinted at the brilliant gems skeptically. “They’re beautiful,” he admitted, “but how exactly are they the secret to all of this?”

Feanor shrugged defensively and moved to put them back in the safe. “I don’t know,” he admitted shortly.

“But if you made them - “

“I had been awake for three days and hadn’t left the workshop once. I had an idea, a brilliant idea, and when it was done, I had these, three pages of illegible notes, and almost no memory of what had happened. If I craft the personality chip and the programming under their light, then it works. If I don’t … ” Feanor’s tone did not invite further comment.

That had never stopped Fingolfin before. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, then how do you know you won’t accidentally craft murderous robots that’ll snap and kill us all?”

“I’m not murderous,” a small voice said from behind a pile of scrap metal. “I have all standard anti-violence programming installed. Also, Huan says he’s bored. Can I take him for a walk?”

“Take Maitimo with you,” Feanor said absently while Fingolfin tried to recover from nearly jumping out of his skin.

“You crafted Turcafinwe to think he can talk to dogs?” Fingolfin said incredulously.

“Of course not,” Feanor said. “I gave him the data he needed to actually talk to dogs.” His eyes shone with triumph. “And I knew you’d warm up to them eventually.”

“What - “ 

Fingolfin abruptly realized what pronoun he’d used to refer to Tyelkormo.

They weren’t people, and it was dangerous to think of them as such.

But -

Well. How much harm could it do?

 

The next creation was named Morifinwe, supposedly for the color of his hair. 

Judging by the look on Feanor’s face, calling him “Dark Finwe” was actually about being spiteful at the Valar’s increasing concerns that all of these too-intelligent, too-real androids might someday go dark and snap, but that wasn’t Fingolfin’s problem.

 

Fingolfin thought he had made his peace with his brother’s creations. He had even quietly started his own attempt at making an advanced AI, a serious break from his usual work in PR, but he still remembered all his old lessons. It would take a while, but maybe …

Then the next little android showed up at family dinner. 

For a moment, Fingolfin thought his brother had gotten bored with androids and decided to take up cloning.

“Why?” he finally asked Nerdanel, pain in every second of the drawn out syllable.

Nerdanel beamed at her creation. “I think he’s adorable, don’t you?”

Fingolfin remembered that this was the woman who had willingly married Feanor and instead took comfort in Anaire squeezing his hand under the table.

 

Still. However … disturbing … Atarinke was, he kept working on his project with Anaire’s help. He was very pleased with how Findekano came out. He might not have that mysterious extra something the Silmarils added, but he was a creation to be proud of.

His only hesitation with the programming was the designation to give himself and Anaire. Were they parents? Creators?

“We are not having it call us its parents,” Anaire said flatly. “It’s creepy enough when Feanor’s do it, and we all know he’s a bit eccentric. You’ve been complaining about it for years. Why is it suddenly a question?”

It was a question because suddenly looking at the tiny, almost perfect body on the table - small for safety concerns, small because it would make it easier to subdue if this went horribly wrong, not because he was thinking of it as a child, surely - looking at it, Fingolfin suddenly had a harder time fully believing that he was making just a machine, nothing more.

But Anaire was right, of course, and Feanor would never let him hear the end of it if he conceded at last. They would be designated by their titles within the company, nothing more.

 

Finarfin announced not longer after that he’d gotten so intrigued that he’d talked Earwen into helping him build Findarato. Feanor must have felt threatened because he announced that he and Nerdanel had decided they were going to build two at once in an attempt at an approximation of twins.

Fingolfin was disturbed less by the concept of that than by the aftermath. He was never entirely sure whether Feanor had actually merged the two’s memory banks or if they were just eerily good at mimicking it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

 

It got almost normal after that. Finarfin had apparently enjoyed the challenge so much that he went on to build Angarato, Aikanaro, and Artanis; Fingolfin raced him for the creation of the first ‘female’ by talking Anaire into helping him with Irisse and made Turukano and Arakano for good measure. It was fine. It was all fine.

Until he walked into Feanor’s shop, saw the parts, asked, “Another one?” and heard - 

“This one’s Atarinke’s, actually.”

Fingolfin froze. “You mean it’s … parts for him?” Please let it be that. Please, please, please … 

“That’s not what I said,” Feanor said irritably. “It’s his. He decided he wanted to build himself a son. I think he’s getting someone to help him with the detail work of the programming, though. He always did prefer the hardware side of things.”

“You programmed them to be self-replicating,” Fingolfin said faintly.

“Of course I did,” Feanor said. “Didn’t you?”

The Valar were going to _riot._

 

Fingolfin hadn’t, of course he hadn’t, but he had programmed them to take in their environment and as much as they could learn, which was presumably why young Dr. Elenwe ended up approaching him tentatively at the end of a project where she’d been allowed to use Turukano as a resource.

“He asked for my help on a personal project,” she said hesitantly, “and it sounded very interesting, only I wasn’t sure if it was allowed … “

Fingolfin frowned. “Does he need an upgrade?” He’d seemed to be functioning fine.

“No, no,” she assured him. “He, um. He wanted my help to make another one. A little one.” When he continued to stand frozen, refusing to comprehend it, she continued on helpfully. “He wanted its designation to be Itarille?”

“Right,” he said faintly. “I’ll … get back to you on that.”

In the end, he sent her a signed project approval form.

He also sent Feanor a memo that said _If they build an army, I’m blaming you._

 

In general, the Valar were exactly as … concerned … with this development as he had expected, but Melkor was the exception to the rule and was instead merely genially interested.

Or was genially interested until Feanor shut the door in his face upon his request to see the Silmarils.

Once, just once, could his half-brother try not to be a PR nightmare?

 

“I don’t blame him for wanting to see them,” Turukano said wistfully. No, not wistfully. Androids couldn’t be wistful, just approximate it.

He had to keep reminding himself of that if he didn’t want Anaire to shoot him more annoyed looks when she caught him referring to them as real.

“They’re beautiful," Turukano continued, and Fingolfin blinked.

“You’ve seen them?” Feanor had kept them locked up and more and more, much to Nerdanel’s annoyance, and Fingolfin couldn’t think when Turukano could have glimpsed them. Unless he had hacked the security feed?

That was concerning.

“We’ve all seen them,” Turukano said in the blank voice he used to communicate simple facts programmed into his database. The sky is blue. We are in Finwe Incorporated’s headquarters on the planet Aman. We’ve all seen the Silmarils.

Fingolfin thought of how that slight but noticeable gap in the realism of Maitimo and Findekano had slowly disappeared.

He felt a sudden need to go storming into Feanor’s workshop and demand to know what he had done.

That urge was somewhat hindered by all the lights abruptly going out.

 

_Sir, I have some bad news. There’s a planet wide power outage, and they’re having trouble with the back-up generators …_

_Sir, I have some bad news. Someone broke into Dr. Feanor’s workshop, and it looks like they took the Silmarils and most of his notes …_

_Sir, I have some bad news. Your father was in the hallway outside of the workshop and -_

 

When the backup generators finally kicked in, and Fingolfin felt slightly less of an urge to scream, he went to find Feanor.

When he found him, there was blood streaked on his brother’s knuckles and leaking down to the keyboard he was frantically typing on. Line after line of code filled the screen.

With a chill, Fingolfin realized he recognized the code. “That’s the anti-violence programming,” he realized. “Why are you dismantling it?”

“I’m going after Melkor,” Feanor said hoarsely. 

“The Valar said - “

“The Valar don’t control the largest collection of androids on the planet,” Feanor snapped. “We do.”

That Feanor intended to change the programming on the countless androids awaiting shipment in their warehouses without so much as consulting anyone surprised Fingolfin not at all. But - “You’re doing this to all of them? Even yours?” Feanor hadn’t touched their coding once since he’d finished it, preferring to let them work things out on their own.

Feanor actually paused. “I made them a separate program,” he finally said. “Code named Oath. I’ll send it out as a potential update. It’ll be up to them if … “

It wouldn’t be up to them. It would be up to the original software he’d installed and whatever developments it had made since. There was no real choice involved, just long strings of code.

Fingolfin didn’t say that. Instead, he said, “I’d better work on something for mine then. And see what Finarfin thinks.”

Feanor blinked. His eyes were bloodshot. “What?”

“He killed Father,” Fingolfin said, and finally let himself feel every last bit of his grief and rage. “I’m coming too.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Fingolfin arrived at Alqualonde Spaceport, the floor was so covered in machine parts and blood that his first thought was that a piece of equipment had exploded.

Then the scene really sank in, and he understood.

Finarfin, only a few steps behind him, gagged as the smell hit.

Fingolfin’s horrified eyes found Feanor. He was braced against the railing of the balcony above looking down at the ships they’d so desperately needed to follow Melkor to Beleriand, where it was rumored he’d fled to. Red speckled androids bustled in and around the ships to prepare them.

Some of them, he realized belatedly, were making a neat stack of bodies by the opposing door.

“Dr. Fingolfin, Dr. Finarfin!” Findekano called cheerfully. The android leaped lightly from the wing of the ship he’d been inspecting and jogged over.

There was blood soaking him from the joints of his wrists to the joints of his elbows. His hands had presumably been wiped clean for the sake of sanitation; he seemed unaware of the rest.

Fingolfin couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Doctor?” Findekano asked in concern. “Are you alright? Do you require medical assessment?” He reached out a hand to balance his creator, and Fingolfin jerked back.

He had never been so glad that he hadn’t given into the urge to designate himself this thing’s father.

“What have you _done?”_

Findekano’s face was still set in the standard ‘worried’ position. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit down while you hear my report? You really don’t look well, sir.”

“Come on,” Finarfin said faintly and practically dragged Fingolfin off to a low bench set into the wall. “Just - sit.” Finarfin promptly followed his own advice and practically fell into the seat.

“The Teleri, as you know, were refusing to honor their longstanding shipping contract with us,” Findekano said as soon as he seemed satisfied with their seating arrangement. “Maitimo has provided me with a full transcript of the negotiations, and my prediction of their eventual success differs from his by only a point zero seven percent margin. They insisted on upholding the Valar’s sanction against current extra-planetary travel. Further attempts were clearly futile, so Dr. Feanor elected to claim the ships you were owed in secret tonight. Unfortunately, the mission went awry, though this was before my arrival.”

“Awry,” Fingolfin repeated.

“Video feeds of the incident indicate that unbeknownst to the planning team, the Teleri had added significant extra security. When the Feanorian team attempted to claim the ships, the Teleri activated an electric pulse that fried the circuitry of twelve units. Three of those had recoverable personality chips. The rest were too deeply damaged. As this was a clear trigger for the new self-defense programming, all units moved to eliminate the threat. My units and I arrived twelve minutes into the conflict. In accordance with the mutual defense programming, we moved to assist the Feanorians and were ultimately victorious. The Feanorians ultimately lost twenty-four units, we lost thirteen, and Dr. Finarfin lost only three. I have a list of all units lost ready for your inspection.”

“And the Teleri?” Finarfin asked.

Findekano smiled. “I am proud to report forty-five enemy dead, sir!”

Finarfin lurched to his feet. “They weren’t - “

“Thank you, Findekano,” Feanor said from behind them. “I can take it from here.”

“Yes, sir,” Findekano said. “I’ll go help Maitimo with the loading.”

Finarfin spun on Feanor as soon as Findekano was gone. “Tell me - tell me you didn’t - “

Feanor’s eyes were edged with red, but his gaze was steady. There was no blood on his hands. Fingolfin wondered if it meant he hadn’t been a part of things or if it just meant his brother was still bothered enough by it to wash it off. “It was not the plan,” he said, “but it’s done now. We have to move forward.”

“Move - “ Finarfin had gone completely white. “I’m done. I’m out, and I’m taking every last one of my androids with me.”

“They’ll decommission them,” Feanor snapped. “Every last one of them. And if the standard issue ones don’t worry you, fine, but what about Findarato? Artanis?”

“Findarato wasn’t even here,” Finarfin snapped. “He was in the second load to come, the one we were supervising.”

Feanor’s laugh sounded wild. “You think that matters? He has the same programming now, and good luck uninstalling it. Artanis tried to protect the Teleri, and it was all I could do to stop the others from killing her for having a ‘glitch.’”

“Scrapping her,” Fingolfin put in quietly. “Not killing. Scrapping.”

Feanor whirled on him. “Now? Now, of all times, we’re having this argument?”

“For the first time in history, androids have just killed elves in so-called self-defense,” Fingolfin said. “The question of what exactly that defense is worth has never been more relevant.”

He couldn’t afford to blur the lines. Not now. Not ever again.

“I’m out,” Finarfin repeated. “If you want to take your stolen ships, fine. I won’t try to stop you. But I’m going home to face up to the Valar, and I’m taking all the androids that’ll follow the order to come with me.”

“And I’m sure Melkor thanks you for it,” Feanor spat. “Go on then. Give my love to Nerdanel.”

Fingolfin’s heart twisted. Nerdanel, Anaire, Earwen … They’d talked some of the junior scientists into coming with them, but their wives had one and all refused to come, though Fingolfin suspected that each one’s reasoning had been rather different.

He watched Finarfin walk away without another word.

He wished there was another way to follow Melkor. He wished he didn’t have to touch the filthy ships and stain himself with Teleri blood.

But they could hardly walk across the void of space to Beleriand, and they had come too far to give up now.

 

Most of Finarfin’s androids stayed on the ships, even Artanis. Angarato even started piecing together a new unit that he had already designated Orodreth.

That was about the only good news. The androids were eerily unaffected, the scientists were nervous, and judging by the looks Feanor kept sending him, his brother was increasingly paranoid that Fingolfin’s own brooding was a prelude to another desertion.

Fingolfin thought he should probably talk to Feanor about that, but - later. Not now. Not when every time he looked at Feanor, he kept looking down at his hands and expecting to see blood beneath the nails.

Halfway there, they stopped at Ice to refuel and reorganize. Each of the three factions now had their own division of ships. It made sense, Fingolfin supposed, and right now he didn’t care enough to think more deeply about it than that.

He cared rather more when the time came to launch and only Feanor’s ships would even start.

Fingolfin stared up at the disappearing lights in the dark sky and tried, for approximately five seconds, to convince himself this was an unfortunate coincidence.

“Orders, sir?” Findekano asked.

“We’re going to get these ships working again,” Fingolfin said with a semblance of calm that would do any android proud. “And then I am going to track down my brother and gut him like a fish.”

 

Ice was not the safest of waystations. Halfway through repairs, Elenwe went out to negotiate for parts and didn’t come back. Turukano nominated himself and went out looking.

He brought back her broken body, minus the credits she had presumably been killed for.

Turukano’s face stayed entirely blank after that.

 

Beleriand wasn’t nearly as advanced as Aman, but it was advanced enough for a landing site, no matter how abandoned it appeared to be.

A few minutes later, Fingolfin was wishing it had been abandoned. Screaming figures from nightmare had risen in ambush quickly, like no creatures Fingolfin had ever seen.

The ship’s weapons tore through the first wave, and they fell twitching to the ground, wires sparking.

Oh. Apparently they weren’t the only ones who meant to take machines to war.

 

Arakano was damaged beyond repair in the ensuing battle. 

Fingolfin told himself he didn’t care and set forward grimly to find his brother.

 

He found his brother’s ships set up in a defensive circle around a lake.

His brother’s favorite androids were inside it. His brother was not.

“Report,” he snapped as soon as he laid eyes on Kanafinwe. The android looked tired, and Fingolfin wondered why he bothered.

Lines of grief deepened in the synthetic face, but the report rolled dutifully out, even if it was far more poetic than he was used to.

They had won their first battle, it seemed.

They had just lost Feanor in the process.

The other reported losses rolled over him as he tried to wrap his mind around the loss of his older brother when just twenty-four hours before Fingolfin had dreamed of wrapping his hands around his throat.

 

He paid more attention later when he absently pulled up the tracking data on his androids and saw that Findekano had gone off grid.

Forty-eight hours later, Findekano’s light blinked back on the grid, detoured to the Feanorian repair room, and then promptly headed for Fingolfin’s quarters upon the flagship.

Had he gone rogue? Had he - ?

“I have retrieved Maitimo, sir,” Findekano announced proudly. 

Maitimo. That’s right. Kanafinwe had mentioned he had been taken. Fingolfin had assumed Melkor had taken him apart to learn Feanor’s secrets and scrapped him by now.

“Atarinke thinks he should be able to restore to almost full functionality,” he continued, and the full import finally hit Fingolfin.

“You went to Angband?” he demanded. “Alone?”

“I had to retrieve Maitimo, sir,” Findekano said, puzzled. “It was a priority mission.”

“From _who?”_

Findekano’s mouth turned stubborn. “It was a priority,” he insisted.

Fingolfin took a deep breath and let it go. “Melkor’s probably got him loaded with viruses and spyware by now.”

“He’s clean. I checked, Atarinke checked, we’ve all checked. He’s fine.” Findekano hesitated. “You’re not going to - Please don’t decommission him, sir. He’s still a valuable asset.”

Findekano hadn’t called Maitimo that once, Fingolfin remembered dimly. He’d called him cousin, and Fingolfin had accused Feanor of infecting his brothers’ creations with his own eccentricity. But as Fingolfin had retreated, so too had the ‘droids.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fine. What else have you learned?”

Findekano launched into a full report.

 

Their people had come from this planet once, Fingolfin knew. Unfortunately, those that had remained behind weren’t all that happy to see them again, partially because of Alqualonde, and partially because Thingol was highly disturbed by the fact that it wasn’t until Fingolfin arrived that he learned the Feanorians were all androids.

Cirdan, who unlike Thingol did not have a massive system of underground bunkers to shelter his people in, was much less concerned by what they were, and far more concerned with how well they could fight.

Fingolfin sent out an optional update to change all android designations to Sindarin equivalents in an attempt to soothe Thingol, who also seemed offended by Quenya for reasons best known to himself.

The androids happily accepted the update. 

Thingol accepted a diplomat in the form of the newly dubbed Galadriel. 

It was progress.

 

Things went - 

Well, things went.

There were victories and defeats, but mainly just a neverending stream of orc units from Angband. They did their best to churn out more of their own units in turn, but they had a harder time of it here than in Aman, and even the most advanced units like Orodreth weren’t the same as the ones made under the light of the Silmarils.

The lost scientists were harder to replace. With every one of those lost, the ‘droids circled protectively tighter around the remaining ones.

Turgon and Finrod simultaneously went rogue and took off with a ship each and a division of androids. Aredhel, Idril, Orodreth, and the newly made Finduilas went with them, though he wasn’t entirely sure who went with which. Their feeds all went dark except for a brief message from Finrod stating that had found something he was calling men, followed by the slow but steady arrival of the short lived people, and the far more constant stream of the ‘droid’s vitals. 

All were steady until Aredhel’s abruptly went dead and her memory banks automatically downloaded.

It was immediately obvious the banks had been badly damaged, but he pieced together what he could.

Apparently, Aredhel had gone rogue twice, once from him and once from Turgon. She’d found a Sindarin programmer in the ruins of one of the cities on the outskirts of Thingol’s bunkers and convinced him to help her make another ‘droid before taking off with it. The programmer, Eol, had given chase after what he saw as the theft of his property. He had apparently intended to destroy the unit before the Noldor could get their hands on his work.

Aredhel had taken the hit instead.

He hadn’t coded her to think the next generation of androids more valuable than herself. He hadn’t coded her to replicate at all. 

She had just - 

Any thoughts he might have had on that were interrupted by the stream of news erupting across his data pad.

They were under attack.

 

They lost untold numbers of men, elves, and androids.

Including Angrod and Aegnor.

It didn’t - they didn’t -

They weren’t people. They didn’t matter, it didn’t - 

Fingolfin forced himself to keep scrolling through the list of casualties again and realized dimly that he was the last remaining Noldor on the planet. There had never been that many to begin with. Just him and a few thousand of his brothers’ and his best attempts at recreations.

 

Fingon knocked hesitantly on the side of the open door. “Dr. Fingolfin?”

“Come in,” he said distantly. “I’ve decided on our counter attack. We need a precision strike. Something to take Melkor out directly.”

Fingon looked over the plans spread across his desk. “The probability is under fifty percent,” he volunteered, “but it’s worth a try, though whatever unit is sent is likely a loss.” He looked up. “Advanced skills will increase the chances of success. I am happy to volunteer - “

“No,” Fingolfin cut in. “I’m doing it.”

“Sir, no! This is a suicide mission! I can’t let you - “

Fingolfin raised an eyebrow. “It’s necessary for the successful prosecution of the war, your highest given priority. You can’t stop me.”

“If you’re suicidal, you’re under a medical advisory, and orders are to come from the next in command,” Fingon snapped. “Which is me. I therefore claim - “

“Fingon, stand down! That’s an order!”

At the word order the lights in Fingon’s eyes dimmed a bit as protocol kicks in.

They never did really think the suicide protocols through enough. It’s far too easy to override.

“I’m going,” Fingolfin said. “Stay there until I depart.”

Fingon twisted around but didn’t technically move from his place. “Sir, you don’t have to do this. I’m happy to take your place. We can send one of the others - “

Fingolfin walked out the door. It was fitting that he be the one to do this. So much blood shed for and his brother’s mission. Some of it ought to be his.

“Sir? Sir!” Fingon’s voice grew more frantic as Fingolfin walked down the hallway. _“Father!”_

Fingolfin froze.

Looked back at a face it was impossible to tell himself did not belong to a person.

And walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For obvious reasons, the next section will be from a different pov, so I've elected to make it a separate story.


End file.
